That all changed when the fingerprint results came in, dashing their hopes that charges were imminent, and life could finally start getting back to normal.
Jack opened the meeting by repeating the depressing results of the fingerprint comparisons, and then promptly handed over to Steve and Susie to run the team through what Boyden had said during interview.
Once that was done, Jack nodded to Kelly Flowers, who he noted was looking very pale. “Kelly, can you tell us what Mrs Boyden said in her statement, please.”
“Well,” Flowers said, letting out a very long sigh, “for starters, she was severely pissed off that I wouldn’t tell her exactly why her husband had been arrested. I eventually calmed her down by explaining that I wasn’t being obstructive; I simply couldn’t divulge the details without her husband’s explicit consent. Anyway, when I asked her if she could account for his movements on the nights of the four murders, she immediately sussed why I was asking and went ballistic. When she did finally calm down, she confirmed that hubby had been at home in bed with her every night last week. If she’s telling the truth, and I think she is, then he’s definitely not our man.”
“So, what now?” Charlie White asked. “Surely, if the fingerprints don’t match and his wifey is giving him an alibi, then he’s not our man. We might as well let him go now, and save ourselves some time.”
“We wait until the DNA results come in,” Jack said, firmly. “Detention wasn’t authorised until four-thirty yesterday afternoon, so we’ve got plenty of time left on the custody clock. I’m not convinced he’s our boy either, Whitey, but we can’t take any chances.”
“The boss is right,” Dillon said. “There’s no way on earth that the foreign DNA we found on our victim’s heart could have landed there by accident. If Boyden’s DNA is a match for that, we know he’s guilty, it’s that simple. It just means the wife is lying to protect him and the unidentified fingerprints on the notes got there innocently. If that’s the case, we’ll have to work out how later on.”
“George, I know it normally takes thirty-six hours but can you get straight onto the FSS and see if you can pull any strings,” Jack said. He didn’t like the idea of keeping Boyden in custody for a moment longer than absolutely necessary, but there was no way he could risk releasing him until he was eliminated as a suspect.
“I’ll do it straight after the meeting,” George assured him.
“Do it now,” Jack said. “You can phone from my office if you want some privacy.” Copeland nodded obediently, gathered his notes and disappeared into the DCI’s office.
“Are we going to charge him in relation to any of the prostitutes he’s been roughing up?” Nick Bartholomew asked, wondering why he seemed to be the only person thinking along these lines.
Jack shook his head. “What are we going to charge him with, Nick?” he asked. “Sonia’s dead so we can’t get a statement from her. Cassandra what’s-her-face has refused to make a statement, and we haven’t even been able to identify the redhead called Trudy.”
Bartholomew thought about this. What Tyler had said seemed to fly in the face of justice. “So, he just walks free?” Surely, that couldn’t be right?
“We don’t like it any more than you do, mate,” Dillon said, “but without some actual evidence there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“At the very least what he’s been doing must be a discipline offence,” Bartholomew protested. The idea that he might end up having to work alongside a man who treated women that way was repugnant.
“Don’t worry, Nick,” Tyler assured him. “Everything we’ve got, including his admissions to using local prostitutes to indulge his sexual fantasies, will be passed to the rubber heelers. He will be suspended pending a full disciplinary investigation.”
“I reckon he’ll end up getting the tin-tack,” Dillon said, “but, ultimately, that’s for Complaints to worry about. We have much bigger fish to fry, remember?”
“Yes, sir,” Bartholomew said, hoping Dillon was right about Boyden being fired. It would be a travesty if he walked away from this without at least losing his job.
Jack checked his watch and stood up. “Right, I’ve got to shoot off as I’m due at Poplar Coroner’s Court this morning for the inquests on victims two and three. Poor old Mr Dillon needs to get a wiggle on, too, as he’s attending victim four’s post-mortem. Chris Deakin’s in charge until we return. Chris, I’ll leave you to finish the briefing and allocate the day’s taskings and actions.” Tyler headed for the door with Dillon in tow. “Good luck,” he shouted over his shoulder, “and let’s all try and keep upbeat. We will get him in the end.”
◆◆◆
Jack walked out of the Coroner’s Court shortly before midday. The sky was clear and the sun was shining. The two inquests had been a formality, as he’d known they would be. At least this time there had been no grieving relatives or film crews to contend with. He wondered how Dillon was getting on, and for a heartbeat he considered popping into the mortuary to find out, but there was really no point in both of them going back to the office smelling of death so he decided against it, opting instead to hunt for a Costa or a Starbucks and grab a large coffee.
Once he was sitting comfortably with his steaming hot latte and a slice of millionaire’s shortbread, he turned on his mobile phone and called the office, wondering if there had been any interesting developments.
As it turned out, there had.
◆◆◆
Dillon removed his coveralls as soon as they reached the mortuary’s ante-chamber. Although he hadn’t been standing near enough to get any of the
